For a while back there I drifted in and out of my own existence. A little leaf caught up in the breeze, just another spec of far –off debris. I could barely distinguish myself from the myriad of bright lights and glossy pages that spilt out from every orifice of this gurgling city. When I looked to the vacant stare of the models on the TV screens I thought I had found myself in their retouched eyes, but for a while, I became even less me. I guess to truly find yourself, one must be lost to start with and lost I really was. Lost in life, lost in these tangled streets, even my words became jumbled. Only when I stepped back and let the water run over me, rather than meandering with the stream, did I become me. Introspection is possibly the most powerful tool for self-discovery. For so long I fought against the tantalising ideals of identity, that I gave up reading books for magazines, and sewing for shopping. I didn’t realise that no one would hand you your individuality, if you want to be different, then just be truly yourself. No one can imitate that. In uniqueness, I found happiness, embracing the aspects of myself that go against the current makes me special. I found that once I stopped caring people started staring; curiosity seeping out from their civility at the prospect of an outcast. The trendsetters that you adore lead with their differences, so why do you follow? Different is more beautiful and life is far too futile to bother not doing what you enjoy.